


The Pool

by ConceptaDecency



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Biting, Cardassian Culture, Ferengi culture, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Humour, M/M, Mid-Series Sitcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-08-26 13:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConceptaDecency/pseuds/ConceptaDecency
Summary: Deep Space Nine is full of romantic fools, and Quark is prepared to take full advantage of it. It's sure as snuffbeetles that Doctor Bashir would never be interested in Garak when there are so many attractive females around, right?





	1. Safe as Snotworms

**Author's Note:**

> Why limit sitcoms to post-canon Cardassia?

“Brother! BROTHER!” Rom tore into the back room, a stupider, pointier grin than usual splitting his face. 

Quark hastily swiped his PADD. A photo of Nog as an infant, chubby, naked, lying on his belly and chewing a tubegrub shell, filled the screen.

“What, Rom? It had better be important. I told you I was doing the accounts and wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“S-s-sorry, Brother.” Nog frowned. “But it is important! Morn says that Pomika says that Wurn walked in on Garak and Doctor Bashir kissing in Garak’s shop. Each other. On the lips. Yesterday, Brother!” Self-satisfaction and confidence squared Rom’s shoulders. “My day. That means I’ve won the pool!”

“What? That’s impossible.” Quark tapped and swiped annoyedly at the PADD, bringing up a spreadsheet on which the names of various station residents were displayed. Taxes and tariffs! Rom was right. Yesterday had been his day. Well, there was no way he was letting this go any further. “Where’s your proof, Rom? I need more than idle gossip.”

“Gossip’s enough, isn’t it, Brother? Rule of Acquisition Number 63: ‘A good rumour can change your fortunes’. A-a-ask Morn. It’s a good rumour.”

“Rule of Acquisition Number 64: ‘A bad rumour can change your life’. And I don’t trust Morn when it comes to gossip. Last month he said the doctor was giving Garak oo-mox in the infirmary.” Who knew what the source of that rumour had been, but it was clearly untrue. Only Ferengi had the lobes to appreciate oo-mox. Cardassians didn’t have lobes at all, just unmanly little ridges. 

“The Rules are o-o-open to interpretation, Brother. Gint doesn’t say if either change is good or bad.”

Quark clamped his hand over his brother’s mouth.

“Rom! Not another word! I can’t believe the blasphemy I’m hearing, and from the lips of my own brother!” 

A muffled exclamation ventilated Quark’s fingers. 

“I can’t tell what you’re saying. If I remove my hand do you promise to stop taking the Rules of Acquisition in vain?”

Rom nodded and Quark withdrew his hand. 

“Good. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.” 

“Y-y-yes, Brother, I am.” Rom looked at his feet. “Buuuut...it’s a credible rumour. Not like the one about oo-mox. Hew-mons are like Bajorans. They kiss their lovers on the lips.”

“If it’s a credible rumour then you’ll have no trouble finding proof.” Quark dismissed his brother by turning back to his PADD. “Until then the pool is still open. Now go back to the bar. Morn’ll have helped himself to who knows how much springwine by now.”

“Yes, Brother,” said Rom dejectedly, exiting the room.

“It’s probably why he sent you back here in the first place, you pathetic naif,” Quark muttered to himself.

In truth, Quark was not worried about the rumour. There was no way it was true. It wasn’t that Garak wasn’t interested. Strangely, for a man as private as Garak, he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was utterly infatuated with Doctor Bashir. It was blatantly obvious to anyone familiar with Cardassian body language - the touching, the leaning, the self-satisfied grins, pursed lips, and quirked eye ridges - meaning that at least two thirds of the station knew. Quark had no idea what kind of game Garak was playing, or if it even was a game, but the Cardassian was shameless, acting for all the world as if he and the doctor were long-term partners. In fact the genesis of the betting pool had been when Natima Lang had asked Quark how long the doctor had been sleeping with the spy, expressing surprise that Starfleet would allow the station’s Chief Medical Officer to engage in such a dalliance. Quark had realised that if even someone as clever as Natima could be taken in, anyone could, and as Rule of Acquisition Number 100 said, ‘a romantic fool and his money are soon parted’.

And while the station may be full of them, Quark was certainly no romantic fool. He hadn’t got this far in the bar trade without knowing how to get the measure of people, thank you very much. Garak was handsome and charming and, for a Cardassian on a Bajoran station, seemed to have a fairly healthy sex life. Quark had seen him leaving the bar many a night with his hand light on the hip of some man or other, gently ushering him in the direction of the lift to the habitat ring. No, clearly Garak had no trouble with men who were into men. 

It was just that the doctor had a clear type, and that type was about as far from Garak as it was possible to be and still be into bipeds. If there was one thing Quark and Doctor Bashir could agree on, it was what made an attractive mate. She was young, slim, beautiful, and female. Actually, the doctor’s tastes were even narrower than Quark’s own, as Quark had never seen the doctor pursue a female who wasn’t also human or very similar in appearance to one; Bajoran, Trill, Elaysian. They all had smooth skin, even teeth, and small, hairy heads. Quark snorted and shook his own bulbous head in satisfied amusement at the thought. As if the doctor would ever have his head turned by a stocky middle-aged Cardassian man, no matter how captivating others seemed to find him. He may as well have been asking people to bet on when the doctor would set up house with a Jem’Hadar. 

Sure as snuffbeetles and safe as snotworms, Quark was never going to have to pay out on _that_ wager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Garak faking his interest in the good doctor? If so, to what end? Is Quark right to bet on staunch heterosexuality? How oblivious is Doctor Bashir, really?
> 
> Stay tuned!
> 
> (And please kudos and comment!)


	2. A Known Biter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rom's got more evidence, and Quark is getting a little concerned.

It was a hastily-taken shot. Dark, blurry, badly composed, and at a terribly awkward angle. But its subject was clear. Doctor Bashir, head bent, long legs caught in mid-stride, making his way across the mostly-empty Promenade. 

Quark brandished the PADD at his brother, whose hands were occupied rolling silverware for the breakfast crowd. 

“Rom. Why did you have Morn send me this photo?”

“Di-i-idn’t he explain in his message?” Rom placed the fabric and metal he’d just bundled together on the pile with the others and took the PADD. “‘Quark, frum Rom’. No-o-o, he didn’t. I guess he’s not much of a writer.”

“Rom, I don’t care if he’s Goj of Munt,” said Quark, invoking the name of Ferenginar’s most revered, and best-selling, author. “I want to know why he sent me this photo.” Quark was pretty sure he knew exactly why Morn had sent the photo. His idiot brother had somehow enlisted Morn into his futile quest to win the pool. He’d probably promised Morn a share of the winnings if the Lurian could help come up with proof, or, knowing Rom’s sorry lobes for business, paid him in full already. Quark had considered just ignoring the photo, but then decided the best way to salt this snail in its shell was to confront it head-on. He couldn’t have the bubblehead even more distracted at work than usual.

“I-i-it’s about the pool, Brother.” 

“What about it? Give me that. You’re still on the clock. I want to see you working.” Quark snatched the PADD back so that Rom could resume rolling cutlery. “Rule of Acquisition Number 224: ‘Idle hands manufacture nothing but losses’.”

“It’s his neck. Look closely, Brother.”

Quark looked. Okay, maybe there was a bit of discolouration on the doctor’s neck, just at the edge of his uniform collar. But it was very blurry. It could easily be a shadow. 

“There’s nothing there, Rom.” Rule of Acquisition Number 145: Deny everything. 

“Lo-o-ok closer, Brother. Here, let me show you.” Rom zoomed in on the shady spot on Bashir’s neck. “It’s a love bite. Cardassians bite their lovers on their necks during, well...you know, Brother.” Rom dipped his head and went back to his rolling.

Quark certainly did know. He hadn’t particularly liked the act at the time, and Natima’d tried her best to hold back, but in his admittedly limited experience, biting certainly seemed to be a deep-rooted and involuntary aspect of Cardassian lovemaking. There came a point, when passions were running high, that Cardassians found it very hard to refrain from sinking their teeth into the neck or shoulder or back or…whatever...of a partner. And when the partner’s skin was rather more delicate than the average Cardassian’s, it very definitely left a mark. Natima had even drawn blood a few times. 

Quark realised he’d brought a hand to his neck and was gently brushing his fingertips against a spot that Natima had been particularly fond of. Natima. What he wouldn’t give for a tender nip from her right now. Appalled at the uncovetous thought, he whisked his hand down to the bar surface, where he tapped his fingers in what he hoped looked like impatience. 

Rom squinted at him owlishly.

“What, Rom? I’m waiting for you to get to the point.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry, Brother. Well, Morn took this early yesterday morning o-o-outside the infirmary. Doctor Bashir must have spent the night at Garak’s. Or Garak spent the night at Doctor Bashir’s. No-o-o, probably not that. Doctor Bashir probably keeps a dermal regenerator in his quarters, so if they stayed at his he wouldn’t need to go to the infirmary the next morning to heal his bite marks...”

Enough. 

“Rom, you keep insisting that Doctor Bashir and Garak are involved somehow, but you’ve just disproven your whole point!”

“I have?”

“Of course.” Quark assumed a condescending older-brotherly tone. “If Doctor Bashir keeps a dermal regenerator in his quarters, why would he risk coming in to his workplace with evidence of lovemaking all over his neck? Why wouldn’t he go to his quarters to clean up first?”

“Well, maybe he...”

“Doctor Bashir is a professional. With the respect of the station. He would never let himself be seen like that on the Promenade.”

“But Brother, the photo...”

“Shows nothing. It’s blurry and imprecise. You’re going to need better evidence than this.”

“Li-i-ike what, Brother?” 

“I couldn’t say. But I’ll know it when I see it. And if I hear that you’ve spent even a moment of time when you’re supposed to be working chasing this ridiculous whim, I’ll dock you a day’s pay.”

With that Quark stalked into the back room, ignoring Rom’s sputtered response. Hopefully the threat would do the trick. Rom was nearly always working. 

Still, this new development was a little worrying. Quark sat down at the counting table and zoomed in on the PADD. Yes, the photo was fuzzy, but the shadowy mark on the doctor’s neck did have the distinctive crescent shape of a set of teeth. Sure, it could be a lot of things, but despite what he’d said to Rom, a bite mark was at least a possibility. A strong possibility. He’d noticed similar marks in similar places on some of Garak’s paramours, those who hadn’t deemed it necessary to visit the infirmary, when they’d come into the bar for breakfast the morning after the night before. The man was definitely a biter. And Quark didn’t really believe the rest of what he’d said to Rom, either. There were all sorts of reasons Doctor Bashir might sneak into the infirmary to take care of his bite mark. As many reasons as there were currencies in the Heavenly Treasury. Maybe Doctor Bashir _didn’t_ keep a dermal regenerator in his quarters, or maybe it wasn’t working. The wound seemed small, from the picture. Maybe he hadn’t noticed it, or had assumed others wouldn’t. Maybe, in the arms of a new lover, he’d lost track of time and in the morning rush hadn’t had the chance to go to his quarters before coming in to work. 

If it even was a bite mark, Quark reminded himself. And if it was Garak’s. Cardassians weren’t the only species who liked to bite, after all. Rule of Acquisition Number 77: 'Don’t trust. Verify. And bury the evidence'.

Quark was going to have to get to the bottom of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! Is Quark's concern misplaced? How can he possibly verify -- or refute -- this new information without Doctor Bashir or Garak getting suspicious? Who else on the station is a known biter?
> 
> Please kudos and comment! Kind (or any) words from readers help keep me going.


	3. An Innocent Crush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quark makes the best of Rule of Acquisition Number 220: 'Listen to what a man’s friends say about him. Insight leads to income'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The placement of this story in canon is intentionally a little fuzzy. No Leeta erasure intended.

“The usual, Doctor? Will Garak be joining you?”

“Garak? No, Quark. Chief O’Brien. He’s just in the refresher.” Bashir gave Quark a quizzical look. Fair enough. It had been a strange question, and Quark had asked it on purpose. He knew very well that the doctor and the chief had just finished an hour and a half in the holosuite, engaged in some ancient hew-mon ‘Battle of Britain’. And had it somehow slipped Quark’s mind, the doctor was also dressed head to toe in what he called his ‘flyboy’ uniform. A uniform which, Quark noted, included a high turned-up collar and a scarf that unfortunately covered nearly all of the neck. Quark made a mental note to crank up the temperature in the bar as soon as he was able to get to the back room. Hopefully the two men would stay for a few rounds, long enough for the doctor to feel warm and remove his scarf. A thorough investigation meant seeing the evidence for yourself. Rule of Acquisition Number 202: 'The latinum doesn’t exist until it’s in front of your eyes'. 

“Of course, Doctor, of course,” said Quark, filling a glass with the frothy golden ale the two men were so fond of. He was pleased to see Chief O’Brien making his way through the crowd. “I only asked,” he said, pausing to slide the drink over the bar, “to make sure Garak wasn’t going to be joining you.” 

The doctor’s quizzical look did not abate. “Why? What do you care?”

The timing was going to have to be perfect.

“Well,” said Quark, pausing to pass the glass over to the doctor, and lowering his voice dramatically as the chief took his seat beside the doctor, “I wanted to know if you were aware that Garak _likes_ you. Ah, Chief! The usual?”

“What does he mean, Garak _likes_ you?” O’Brien nodded his assent and Quark began filling a second glass. 

“Emm,” began the doctor. “I’m not sure. I mean, we’re friends, so I guess he must like me.” 

“Oh no, Doctor, that’s not what I meant.” Quark laid the innocence on thick. “For us Ferengi ‘like’ is a euphemism. I meant that Garak is _interested_ in you. Romantically. I thought you should be aware.” He slid the second ale over the bar to the chief.

“For us humans ‘like’ is a euphemism too,” said O’Brien. “But you’re talking shite, Quark.” He lifted his glass in his friend’s direction. “Cheers.”

The doctor responded in turn. They clicked their glasses together in the hew-mon pre-drinking ritual that they seemed to think so essential, and each took a deep draught of ale.

“No, I’m serious, Chief. He acts as if Doctor Bashir were his wife. If you know anything about Cardassian body language it’s obvious. Ask anyone who was here during the Occupation.”

“That’s not funny, Quark. You shouldn’t be making up rumours about people.” 

“I swear, on my grandfather’s bankbook! I’m not making it up.” 

“Miles, he’s not making it up,” sighed the doctor, who’d been frowning into his beer. He shot Quark a look like a kicked muckwhelp that said ‘why’d you have to go and tell him?’ Quark was genuinely sorry to have caused the man distress, Doctor Bashir being one of his best customers and all, but it had been necessary. Unfortunately sometimes Rule of Acquisition Number 233, ‘avoid paying out on a bet at all costs’, clashed with Rule of Acquisition Number 57, ‘good customers are as rare as latinum. Treasure them’. The scholarpreneurs disagreed on how to interpret ‘at all costs’, but Quark was inclined to agree with Rule of Acquisition Number 2: ‘A free drink or an apology can win back an aggrieved customer, but try the apology first’. The doctor could be won back. 

“Whaddyamean?” The chief’s face often took on a reddish hue when he was emotional. 

“It’s true. And yes, Quark, I _know_ , thanks. Nearly every Bajoran on the station’s felt obliged to tell me at some point.” 

Interesting. So the doctor was aware. Quark wasn’t sure yet if this was good or bad for his chances at keeping the pool money, but it was a promising start to what should be a very informative conversation. He picked up a cloth and a glass and commenced the old bartender trick of looking otherwise occupied while quietly taking in everything around him. 

“Why don’t you tell him to stop, Julian?” O’Brien was incredulous.

“Well, it’s very difficult thing to bring up, isn’t it? ‘Garak, you seem to be quite taken with me but can you just pretend you’re not, please?’” The doctor was suddenly fascinated with the bottom of his glass. “And, anyway, have you ever tried to get Garak to stop doing something he wants to do?” 

“No, I haven’t. Thank feck I don’t have to deal with him too often.” The chief narrowed his eyes. “Is he harassing you, Julian? You can tell Odo, you know.”

“No! God, Miles, he’s not _harassing_ me. He’s done nothing that comes close to that. It’s just an innocent crush.”

“Julian! Julian. I don’t need to tell you that nothing is innocent when it comes to Garak.”

“Poor choice of words. But I don’t think he’d ever do anything untoward. In any case, I really don’t mind. He’s my friend, and it’s just the way he’s always been.”

O’Brien considered this. “‘The way he’s always been’? So you’re saying Garak’s fancied you from the start and you’ve no problem with that?”

“Well, no.”

The two were silent for a moment. The chief furrowed his brow, clearly trying to process what he’d just heard. The doctor knocked the last of his drink back and set the empty glass on the bar.

“Wait a minute, I see what’s going on here,” said O’Brien. 

Quark’s ears pricked up. Rule of Acquisition Number 220: 'Listen to what a man’s friends say about him. Insight leads to income.'

“You actually like it. You sly bastard. I should have known. You love the attention.”

“Really, Miles, you make me sound like a vain prat,” said the doctor, blushing, but Quark noticed he didn’t deny O’Brien’s accusation. 

“You are a bit, aren’t you, though? Nothing wrong with it. I guess I might be the same if something like that ever happened to my ugly puss.” The chief laughed and drained his own drink. “Quark, another round for me and my irresistible friend here.” 

“Coming right up, Chief,” said Quark. Would it be prudent to massage the conversation a little more? Chief O’Brien hadn’t even seemed to consider the possibility that the doctor might reciprocate Garak’s feelings. On the one ledger, he probably knew the doctor better than anyone else on the station, so maybe he was right. On the other ledger, O’Brien’s distaste for Garak was well-known. Perhaps this was a blind spot for the chief. No, more information was needed, and Quark had better say something quickly, before the topic of conversation got totally off course. Quark opened his mouth, hoping that whatever was about to spring from his lips would prod something more useful from at least one of the men.

But the chief was in there before Quark had the chance to say anything.

“Any chance you could bat your eyes at him and get him to hurry up with those Battle of Clontarf outfits? You may as well make the most of the situation.”

Ah, the chief’s current obsession, another holosuite program featuring another Earth battle. 

The doctor snorted. “It wouldn’t do any good. He told me he’s having trouble sourcing the sheepskins.”

“You’re joking. Can he not just replicate something?”

“He says replicated sheepskins would affect the verisimilitude.”

“Well, what’s he planning to use, then? Not real sheepskins?”

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t think so, but he won’t tell me what he’s got in mind.”

“Jaysus. They’re going to cost a fortune,” the chief chuckled. “You’ll have to flirt harder, Julian. Try to get us a discount.” 

Quark cringed internally. O’Brien wasn’t serious about the discount, of course. Cost didn’t matter to Starfleeters, all their bills being covered by the Federation, but they still insisted on making distasteful and irreverent jokes about money. It hurt Quark’s lobes sometimes, it really did. However, as Rule of Acquisition 212 stated, ‘forgive good customers their trespasses. Profit is more important than your feelings’. Quark shoved his irritation down and passed the second round of drinks over the bar.

“I’ll try, Miles,” laughed the doctor. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” replied O’Brien, and they both drank. “But seriously, Julian, see if you can get him to hurry up. Keiko’s back in a couple weeks, and I’d like to get a few sessions in before that. There’s this brilliant bit when Sigurd of Orkney’s forces turn up, but you have to play through to really appreciate it…”

Well, that was it. Once they got talking about their holosuite games there was no changing the topic. Unsatisfied, Quark made his way to the back room to turn up the heat. At least it looked like the two were going to settle in for a while, and he’d be able to get a look at the doctor’s neck. But he needed more information. The chief had joked about the doctor flirting with Garak, and the doctor had gone along with it, but that didn’t mean much. Hew-mons joked about everything, especially those two. It was almost like some kind of code, it was so difficult to know if there was an underlying truth. Was he going to have to get information from _Garak_ somehow? That was really playing with volatile stock. If Garak somehow found out about the pool he would not be best pleased. However, there was always Rule of Acquisition Number 27 to consider: ‘Protect your profits at all costs, better than you would your favourite child’. Quark didn’t have children, but he did have profits, so he reckoned he understood that rule well enough. 

“Computer, increase ambient temperature in the bar by three degrees.” 

He sat down to puzzle out his next move. The planning would have to be exquisite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that didn't really pan out for our hero. What will Quark's plan for getting information out of Garak be, and will it work? How annoyed is Julian exactly at Quark for embarrassing him in front of his cool best friend? And is the 'innocent' crush reciprocated?
> 
> Kudos, comments, speculations, and remarks loved and appreciated!


	4. Sometimes You Want Popsnails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rom lands himself in hot water, and Quark learns a little about hew-mon sexuality.

“What’s he done this time, Odo?”

Rom stood bowed over in the holding cell, his shoulders slack and his gaze on the floor. He emitted a distressed whine at regular intervals. The worse-for-wear Bajoran drunk in the cell across the room held his sorry head in his hands and shot daggers at him from bloodshot eyes. 

“He broke into confidential records. As if you don’t know, Quark.” Odo added a snort for effect. It was amazing how the man couldn’t manage a decent set of ear ridges, but his snorts, despite his not actually having a respiratory system, managed to convey mild derision so accurately. 

“I _don’t_ know! Odo, I’m not my brother’s keeper. What kind of records?” 

“Dental records, for some reason. What are you up to, Quark?”

“Dental records?” The bite mark. Of course. That fool. That absolute ninny. If Odo found out about the pool the money was as good as gone. “Odo, I’m as confused as you are what he’d want with something like that. We Ferengi don’t even go to the dentist.” 

“I-i-it was on my own time, Brother, I swear!” Diminishing dividends and plummeting profits! Trust Rom to find his voice at the most inopportune moment. 

“We’ll talk about it later, Rom. Please, Odo, he’s an idiot. He probably stumbled on them by accident.” 

“Why would he care that you know it was on his own time?”

“Because I told him to stop playing around with his PADD while he was on the clock. You wouldn’t believe how distractible he is. Always been this way. When we were kids our Moogie used to have to sit with him for hours just to help him complete a simple balance sheet.” 

“Save it, Quark. I already know he was looking for Garak’s dental records.”

“He-e-e didn’t have any, Brother. I guess he doesn’t go to the dentist. He should, with all the sweets he eats, but maybe Cardassians...”

“Rom, stop your rambling or I won’t even try to get you out.” He had been considering leaving Rom in the cell for a while as a means of discouraging him from investigating any further, but decided the risk of the beetlebrain saying something even more incriminating to Odo was too great. 

Rom collapsed back in on himself. “Sorry, Brother.” 

“Why was he looking for Garak’s dental records, Quark?” 

“I don’t know, Odo, honestly!” Quark held up his hands, wide open, palms forward, as if in confusion and dismay. Rule of Acquisition Number 45: 'An open hand makes it look like you’ve got nothing to hide, so open your hands when you’ve got something to hide'. It didn’t really seem to work on Odo, but it never hurt to try.

“Oh? Really? Do you think Garak’s in some kind of danger? If there’s any chance of that it’s my responsibility to inform him.” 

Suffering stagflation! That was the worst possible outcome! Quark quickly weighed the pros and cons. Sure, If Odo knew about the pool he might try to shut it down, but, provided it was licensed and taxed, a betting pool wasn’t strictly speaking _illegal_. If Garak found out about it, though, there was no telling what he would do, but it would certainly be unpleasant. It was a risk, confessing to Odo, because he might tell Garak anyway, but Quark was trapped like a defanged gree-worm on a jelly factory floor. One thing was certain, though. The refreshers in the bar were going to sparkle like freshly pressed latinum, because Rom would be on cleaning duty for a very, very long time to come.

“Garak’s not in any danger, Odo,” Quark sighed. He did not continue. No sense giving Odo all the information too easily. Rule of Acquisition Number 67: 'Information is as valuable as latinum. Never give it away for free'.

“And? Go on.”

“Rom is convinced Garak bit Doctor Bashir.”

“Why would Garak bite Doctor Bashir? Rom?” Odo tried to maintain an authoritative tone, but the fact that he clearly had no idea what the significance of biting was to Cardassian intimate relations somewhat undermined it. Quark sometimes forgot how innocent Odo could be when it came to sex. Fantastic. Maybe the pool was safe after all. Rule of Acquisition Number 119: 'Innocence is precious. Exploit it'.

“I have no idea, Odo. Just one of Rom’s notions,” he wheedled. “But clearly Garak’s in no danger. Rom was just looking out for Doctor Bashir, so if you’d be so kind as to release him…”

“Why would Rom think that?”

“You know my brother. He’s just a dumb, kind-hearted lunkhead. I don’t know where he gets these ideas.” 

Rom had lifted up his head and was staring at Quark, blinking. Quark willed him to keep his mouth shut.

“You mean your Federation doctor fucked the spoonhead? Prophets’ tears, Odo, let me go, please! I want to get off this depraved space station.” The slurred words of the drunk floated across the room in a sweet miasma of booze breath and springwine-fortified disgust. It was a mixture Quark was normally quite comfortable with, being in the bar trade, but right now he deeply wished he’d cut the man off a drink or two earlier the night before. 

“I don’t think you’re quite sober yet, Cruna,” Odo barked at the drunk. “Why don’t you lie down for a while until you feel better? And watch your language. I’ll have no racial slurs in the holding cells.” 

Muttering about the Federation and cardie-fuckers under his breath, Cruna curled up on the bench of his cell and turned his back to the world. 

“So this is about your pool, is it, Quark?”

Quark joined his brother in astonished blinking. “You know about that?”

Odo’s smirk was as well-crafted as his snort. “Of course I do. It’s the least of your underhanded dealings. But if I see you or your brother in here again for anything related to Doctor Bashir or Garak’s private business, I will be obliged to let them know about it too. And I’m not sure how either of them will take it.” He tapped the control panel and the forcefield of Rom’s cell fizzed away. 

“Y-y-you’re letting me go, Odo?” Rom was in disbelief. 

“You’re getting a warning, Rom. I don’t think you would have done it if your brother hadn’t influenced you somehow, but I’d better not see you in here again.”

“I protest, Odo! Rom is his own person and he did what he did of his own free will!”

“And _you_ , Quark.” Odo rounded on Quark with an intensity that made Quark start back half a step. “I haven’t got anything on you for this. Yet. But watch it.”

“Tha-a-ank you, Odo,” said Rom. “You won’t see me in here again, I promise. Unless you need me to look at the touch panel in your office again. I mean if Chief O’Brien is too busy, li-i-ike last time…”

“That’s quite all right. I’ll call you if I have any more trouble with the panel.” But, what was that in Odo’s tone? Was Odo being…kind? To Rom? But why? Perhaps it was the successful result of Rule of Acquisition Number 32: 'It never hurts to suck up to the authorities'. 

“O-o-okay, do, any time.” Rom glanced at Quark. “E-e-except when I’m working, of course.” Rom turned to go, stopped abruptly in the infuriatingly transparent way he always did when an idea somehow found its way into his thick skull, then turned back to address the constable. “Odo, do-o-o you think Doctor Bashir and Garak are seeing each other? Have you noticed anything?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know anything about that,” gruffed Odo. Hmmm. The man really was as bashful as a baby bungmaggot when it came to humanoid mating rituals. Quark made a mental note to take better advantage of this in the future.

And no time like the immediate future.

“Stop bothering Odo with your crazy theories, Rom. Doctor Bashir likes females. Hasn’t he tried it on with half the dabo girls in the bar?” 

“If he fucked the dabo girls and he fucked the cardie tailor then he’s probably bisexual, you big Ferengi boxhead,” opined Cruna, who had flopped bonelessly onto his back. You could practically smell the drink wafting off him, despite the forcefield. “Or omni-sexual. Or cardie-sexual. Humans will sleep with anyone, cardie or not.”

“Enough, Cruna, or you’re getting a citation in addition to your night in the cells.”

“Can’t even say cardie-fucker these days,” grumbled Cruna, before descending into annoyed, indecipherable mumbling.

“Bi? Sexual?” Quark was aware of the word, and what it meant, and that some people were that, but how could it apply to the doctor? He liked females, a lot, and if he _had_ been with Garak, which was very unlikely, it was only because Garak, being a charismatic man with a mysterious past, had tricked him somehow.

“Ye-e-es, Brother. A lot of hew-mons are.”

“I know that, Rom.” Obviously. You didn’t rent holosuites by the hour on a space station without learning a thing or two about different species’ sexual proclivities. “But Doctor Bashir? Why? He does so well with the females. He doesn’t need to be.”

“I-i-i don’t know. Maybe he wants something different once in a while. Rule of Acquisition Number 46: ‘Diversify or die.’ Yo-o-ou can’t eat tubeworms all the time, no matter how good they are. Sometimes you want popsnails.”

“Rom, that’s not even close to what Rule Number 46 means. Don’t display your ignorance. And nobody likes popsnails.” 

Odo crossed his arms. “I don’t understand why you solids care so much about these things. As far as I can tell there’s almost no difference between male or female or any other sex or gender. Doctor Bashir and Garak seem to enjoy each other’s company. Why shouldn’t they…get together…if that’s what they want to do?”

“Because, Odo, it’s more complicated than that.” It certainly was. Two people didn’t just get together like that. Not necessarily. Odo didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Is it? That’s not what I’ve observed.”

“Well, I’m very busy and I don’t have time to explain it to you. Let’s go, Rom.” Quark marched out of the room, not even checking that Rom was following.

“Yo-o-ou _have_ seen something going on between Garak and Doctor Bashir, haven’t you, Odo? A-a-and you just can’t say.” Rom was so excited he nearly squeaked.

“I really can’t comment on that,” replied Odo, but, markets curse the man and all his investments forevermore, Quark could hear a measure of amusement in his voice. His special get-a-dig-in-at-Quark voice that he used when he wanted to make an honest businessman’s life a misery. And it lacked just enough of Odo’s usual gravitas that a fool like Rom might be led to believe that Odo _had_ seen something. Which he hadn’t, of course.

“Rom, get to work. Now. Your shift started twenty minutes ago, and if you think I’m paying you until you’re dressed properly and behind the bar, you’re crazier than I thought. Odo, I’ll thank you not to encourage him.”

“I’d say Rom could use a little encouragement,” said Odo, eyes on Rom as he scurried out. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Very well. I’ll be by later to check your license for the pool. You’ll be so kind as to have it ready for inspection, won’t you?”

“I may have misplaced it, Odo. If you give me a couple of days I’m sure I’ll be able to find it for you.” A fine tureen of tubeworms this was! The fees and taxes on the pool would reduce its profitability considerably. That was definitely coming out of Rom’s wages. 

“I’m sure you can find it in one day, Quark. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Fine, Odo. Good day.” 

Fantastic. There was a reason no one bothered with legal pools. So much headache for so little profit, if done fully above board. It was almost as if the Bajoran government wanted to discourage gambling. Quark shook his head and contemplated his to-do list for the rest of the day. File for the license, put the finishing touches on his plan for coaxing information out of Garak, and, finally, do some deeper research into hew-mon sexuality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear, things just keep getting worse and worse for Quark. Could Cruna the drunk be right? Does Doctor Bashir like a popsnail now and then? Might Odo actually know something, or does he just delight in tormenting a simple barkeeper?
> 
> I'd love it if you left a comment or a kudos, or why not both?
> 
> (On a more serious note, I feel like the term bisexual might be a bit limiting (only two?!) in a time and place where you're dealing with sexy, sexy beings from all over the galaxy who may have infinite combinations of sexes and genders, and perhaps Julian may not use the term to describe himself. Though maybe he would. But it's pretty funny to have a scrubby old drunk blow Quark's mind with the concept!)


	5. Two Cozy Loveslugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quark's got the perfect plan for extracting information from Garak, and it nearly goes off without a hitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a few weeks since I updated, so for the benefit of those of you reading in real time, I will recap, old school.
> 
> Last time on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: The Pool
> 
> Rom got himself in a bit of trouble trying to prove that Garak did indeed bite Doctor Bashir, likely in an amorous manner. 
> 
> Odo claimed to know nothing about Garak and Doctor Bashir, but everything about the betting pool.
> 
> A drunk schooled Quark in hew-mon sexuality.
> 
> Having already tried and learned nothing from Doctor Bashir, Quark became more determined than ever to prove Rom's dumb theory wrong by going straight to the other party involved: Garak.
> 
> And now the exciting continuation.

“Courtesy of the gentleman.” Quark placed the ornate tumbler in front of Garak and nodded down the bar in the direction of the gentleman in question. 

Garak didn’t even look up from his PADD. “Please thank the gentleman kindly, Quark, but I’m not in the mood today,” he said waspishly. 

Pinching prodflies, this was not a good start.

“Are you sure, Garak? It’s the Porot Ssel.” 

That got his attention. Porot Ssel, while not the most expensive kanar in Quark’s stocks, was still an extravagant choice. Quark knew Garak was fond of it but only drank it infrequently, to mark, Quark supposed, special occasions the significance of which he chose to keep to himself. Garak claimed it was far more sophisticated than Quark’s top-shelf kanars. This was of course completely untrue. Hadn’t Gul Dukat and his men always praised Quark’s range of Nand Sryns and Tipoks? But as Rule of Acquisition Number 126 said, ‘never question your customers’ tastes. Unless you can upsell them’. 

“Your choice or his?” Garak cocked an eyeridge. 

“His.” Two-thirds true. Quark had offered compelling advice as to Garak’s preferences. 

“Very well.” Setting his PADD on the bar, Garak raised the glass to the man and nodded. The man, a tall, broad-shouldered Fumalian with an elegant array of circular patterns shaved into the short ginger hair on his face, raised his own glass and dipped his antlered head. They each took a sip and the Fumalian sauntered over. 

“Hello, lovely. Is the kanar to your liking?” He didn’t claim the stool next to Garak, but leaned on the bar, his own drink dangling at belt-height from his fingers in a way that made Quark a little nervous. Those tumblers were expensive. 

Garak raised both eyeridges at such familiarity, though it was entirely to be expected from a Fumalian. “The 742 Porot Ssel has a smoky, dense richness that I find pleasant, yes.” His tone was cool.

“Rich, and yet so much subtler than the 743. That was a robust vintage.” 

“So I’ve heard, but unfortunately I’ve not had the opportunity to try it.”

“You’re not missing much, lovely. Be glad you have the 742.”

“You seem to know a lot about kanar,” said Garak suspiciously. 

The Fumalian laughed, rich and baritone. “Who do you think sold it to Quark, darling? I trade in kanar, among other things.”

Was that a spark in Garak’s eyes? Quark wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking on his part, but Garak did love to talk about Cardassian things with loquacious, intelligent people, and the Fumalian was certainly those. As for the Fumalian, he was, for reasons Quark had never been able to decipher, appreciative of many of the things Cardassia had to offer, including her men. Particularly her men. In fact, since the Cardassian withdrawal, his visits to the station had dropped off dramatically. Hopefully it wouldn’t take much to nudge Garak into his arms, and that would prove to be the end of this Garak and Doctor Bashir nonsense. 

“Is that so?” Yes, that was a little warmth in Garak’s voice, wasn’t it?

“It’s a pity I don’t have any bottles of the 745 at the moment. The smokiness is even more playful than the 742, if you can believe it. I’ll bring you a few next time I’m passing through, sweet thing.” 

Sainted scarcity! That wasn’t what Quark had had in mind at all. Garak was his only regular who was in the habit of drinking kanar. If he started getting it directly from the supplier, Quark would find himself with a lot of unshiftable product going viscous in his storeroom. It was only by recalling Rule of Acquisition Number 78, ‘play the short game, the medium game, but most of all the long game’, that Quark was able to stifle the protest rising to his lips.

“It’s just as well you don’t. I’m not in the habit of accepting expensive gifts from people whose names I don’t know,” Garak said primly. This was one hundred percent true, but only because Garak was not in the habit of not knowing anyone’s name in any situation. 

“Of course, darling, how rude of me. Eenos Viga.” He nodded his head in the Cardassian way. This was a method Quark had seen him use before. A combination of smothering Fumalian forthrightness and acknowledgement of the more reserved cultural mores of his potential mates rarely seemed to fail Viga. Quark had learned from observation that there was nothing a guarded, conservative people liked more than being coaxed into profligacy by some cheerful rake like Viga. “Captain of the trade clipper _Izod_.”

Garak acknowledged the introduction with a crisp nod of his own. “Garak.”

Quark groaned internally. It was hard to tell with Garak. When he wanted to be, he was the most charming being you’d ever met, approachable, agreeable, drawing you in with eloquence and rapt attention. But he could also throw up walls of ice, and Quark had seen him cut down would-be admirers with a word and a withering smile. 

“A recent arrival to the station?”

“I’m really not sure how that’s any of your business. If you think you’re entitled to my life story just because you bought me a glass of kanar you are sorely mistaken, Captain Viga.” Garak swirled the kanar in his glass and took a sip, all the while holding Viga in a marble stare.

Quark sucked the air in through his teeth. Capital and currency, it was hard to tell Cardassian flirting from straight-out rejection sometimes. He wondered if he should intervene somehow and help Viga out, as per Rule of Acquisition Number 96: 'Nurture love. Nothing is more profitable’. But maybe it would be better to let Viga do what he did best. Rule of Acquisition Number 107: ‘Inaction, timed correctly, is essential for profit’. 

And Viga didn’t seem to be too bothered by Garak’s cold lour. He only laughed. “Of course, Mr Garak. I only asked in order to determine if I should be annoyed at my old friend Quark here for not telling me sooner that a lovely creature such as yourself was living on the station.” 

“Garak’s been the station’s tailor for four or five years now,” said Quark. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be annoyed at me, Viga.” Forget Rule 107. Rule of Acquisition Number 108 applied better in this case: ‘Action, timed correctly, is essential for profit’.

“Thank you _so_ much, Quark. I really can’t express how I appreciate you explaining my life story to Captain Viga when I was simply unable to do so myself.” Garak focused his stone-cold gaze on Quark. Quark shivered and began to doubt the wisdom of his intervention. “And it’s just Garak, Captain.”

“Garak it is, then. Of Garak’s Clothiers on the Promenade? I should have known.” He traced the collar of Garak’s tunic with a finger. By the pendulous lobes of Gint himself, that was a bold move! Quark would have been afraid of having his own finger bitten off. “Is this Palangian tweed, _Garak_?” Viga slipped his finger inside Garak's collar so that he could rub the fabric between finger and thumb. “Hand-woven? Oh, you do have good taste, lovely.” 

Garak’s chin shot out and his neck straightened and stiffened in a way that Quark had never quite decided was supposed to be defensive or provocative in a Cardassian. Knowing Cardassians, it was probably both, with three or four other meanings layered between. 

“Should I assume you trade in fabric as well, Captain?” Garak blinked, but he made no move to remove Viga’s hand. 

“I do, darling.” Viga gave the fabric of Garak’s collar one final gentle roll with his thumb and forefinger and then withdrew. “And I happen to have a few bolts of Lakarian jacquard left from my last trip to Cardassia. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in seeing them?”

Quark wasn’t imagining it. No, definitely not. That microscopic turn of the head, that pursing of the lips. If he knew Garak, and he liked to think that he did, Garak was interested. 

“I might. Is it natural or synthetic?”

“All-natural, lovely. Woan underwool. There’s a little factory outside Lakarian City, near Ghira, that weaves the most magnificent jacquards you ever saw.” 

Garak turned on his stool toward Viga for the first time. Rocketing returns, this really was going to work, wasn’t it?

“Is that so?” Garak tilted his head. “You don’t mean the Cornazin Woollen Mill, by any chance?” 

“That’s the one!” Viga slapped his thigh. “Of course you’re familiar. I should have realised someone with your discernment already knew the place. You’re probably there frequently yourself.”

“Unfortunately my work prevents me from getting to Cardassia as often as I’d like.” 

“That's a crying shame, darling.” Viga placed two sympathetic fingers on Garak’s sleeve. “In that case, you really must have a look at the jacquards. What do you say we finish our drinks and then adjourn to my ship?”

Garak opened his mouth, then paused. Quark could scarcely breath. 

“Yes, that sounds agreeable, thank you, Captain.” 

Quark bit his lip to prevent himself from breaking into a grin, but Viga obviously felt no such inhibitions. “Wonderful!” A wide bifurcated smile spread over his face. “I’ll be glad to have you. Meanwhile, shall we move somewhere more private to finish our drinks?”

Quark could not restrain himself from dipping his head and fanning his fingers in a Ferengi victory jig as Garak allowed Viga to escort him to one of the small booths in the far corner of the bar. And by Gint's shaggy ear canals, wasn't that Viga's arm snaking over Garak's shoulder in a way that Viga knew very well was intimate to Cardassians? And wasn't Garak...not pulling away? Maybe even leaning in a little? Quark crossed his arms, leaned back, and took a moment to appreciate a clever scheme well on its way to consummation. 

"Brother, do-o-o you know that Viga's back on the station?" Rom approached the bar, a sonic mop clutched in one hand.

Quark wasn't even annoyed at the stupid question. "Do I know Viga's back on the station? I certainly do. Look who Viga's convinced to 'peruse his wares'." Arms still crossed in satisfaction, Quark inclined his head towards Garak and Viga. Who were, now, quite immersed in each other, as it were. 

Rom gasped and dropped the mop with a clatter, drawing the attention of nearly every being in the bar, with the exception of the two cozy loveslugs in the booth. "Bu-u-ut...WHAT ABOUT DOCTOR BASHIR?"

"What _about_ Doctor Bashir? Clearly there isn't anything between Garak and Doctor Bashir, or Garak wouldn't be...letting Viga do _that_...in front of half the station." It was true. If anyone on DS9 knew how to be discrete, it was Garak. If he was with Doctor Bashir and decided he wanted a quiet taste of spiny spicebug on the side -- and Quark wasn't judgmental, being a big believer in Rule of Acquisition Number 269: 'There is no profit in judgment' -- not a single person on the station would ever know about it.

"I guess so, Brother. Maybe you were right." Dejectedly, Rom bent to pick up the mop. "Bu-u-ut..." Rom's broad face re-emerged from behind the bar with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. "Maybe they were together and broke up. I'd still win the pool."

"Prove it."

Rom wasn't listening. "O-o-or maybe they have an understanding. An open relationship."

"Oh, come on, Rom. 'Open relationship'." Quark snorted derisively. "Those aren't real. Think about it. If you were with a female and she said she wanted to sleep with other men, would you be happy?"

"No-o-o..."

"Well, there you go."

"But...ju-u-ust because I wouldn't like it doesn't mean they would mind. Different things bother different people. Like how Major Kira hates rip dancing but Lieutenant Commander Dax loves it." 

"Rom, you come up with the most ridiculous analogies. Dancing and sex are nothing alike." 

"No-o-o, but..." 

"Now take that mop and go clean the other refresher. I want the floor so shiny that I can check my teeth in it."

"Yes, Brother." Rom turned away. "I guess whe-e-en Doctor Bashir gets here we'll find out one way or the other." 

Wait, what? "What do you mean, 'when Doctor Bashir gets here'?"

"I-i-it's the second Deptan of the month, Brother." Rom checked his chronometer. "And it's nearly 21 hours."

Sour snail slurry! Quark cursed himself for the rookie mistake of forgetting Rule of Acquisition Number 87: 'Always check your calendar when implementing a scheme'. Sisko held a senior staff meeting every other Deptan, sacrosanct, from 20 to 21 hours. Afterwards, some of the senior staff would come to Quark's for a bit of what the hew-mons called 'team-building'. The level of participation varied. Kira, Worf, and Odo only occasionally made an appearance. Sisko would usually come, but only stay for one drink. With O'Brien it depended whether his wife and child were on the station or not. But invariably, without fail, Dax and Doctor Bashir would be at the bar like clockwork at 21:05.

Quark's eyes flashed over to Garak and Viga. They were practically sitting in each other's laps. Of course Garak wouldn't behave this way in public with another man if he was actually seeing Doctor Bashir, would he? No, what a notion! But what if Quark was wrong? What if Doctor Bashir saw them together and, in a pique of jealousy, reacted in some loud and indiscrete way? That would be the end of the pool for certain. 

There was no point taking chances. Quark plastered a placating, apologetic expression on his face and stalked over to the booth.

"Can I get you anything else, gentlemen?" he asked, after a spurious but forceful clearing of his throat.

"Quark!" Though he was surely none too pleased to be interrupted in such a moment, Viga greeted him with his usual jolly beaming grin. "No, we're fine right now. Aren't we, lovely?" He pulled Garak close as he said this.

"Quite satisfied, Quark," said Garak, who looked a little less forgiving at the intrusion. "What is it you want?"

"Well, Garak, it's a little awkward, actually." Quark widened his eyes and rubbed the back of his head, trying to look abashed. "It's just that there have been complaints about your...behaviour. Both of you. It’s a little racy." Rule of Acquisition Number 15: ‘It's better to alienate your customers from other customers than from yourself’.

"Is it." It wasn't a question. "I had no idea Quark's had become the sort of establishment frequented by such...respectable clientele." 

Quark bit the inside of his cheek. Long game. "All of my customers are respectable, Garak. You know that." Garak did not acknowledge. "It's just that some can be rather sensitive. Cultural differences. You know how it is."

Viga saved him. "Don't let a few prudes ruin your night, beautiful," he murmured, raking Garak's mussed hair back from an ear. "They're just jealous. And we were just about to leave anyway. Let's go to my cabin and try to find that bottle of 741 I was telling you about."

They stood, and Quark was as relieved as a rub-nosed rotmaggot. It was 21:02. "Thank you so much for understanding, gentlemen. Next time you're in here your first drinks are on the house."

"Good evening, Quark," said Garak.

"Thank you, Quark! Have a fantastic night, you old rogue!" Viga slapped him on the back with the hand that was not tightly grasping Garak around the waist. He turned to nibble Garak’s ear as they strode away. "Your friend won't have any trouble finding the ship if we don't wait for him here, will he, darling? Tell him it's Docking Bay Six." 

Quark didn't hear Garak's response. He was busy steadying himself from the combined blows of Viga's hearty backslap and his puzzling words. Why would Viga and Garak invite a friend to their little rendezvous? Had he totted up the figures completely wrong, and they really _were_ going to drink kanar and look at fabrics? That was dedication to business that Quark had to admire. But no, their body language certainly suggested otherwise. It could only mean that...Quark took a step back and nearly fell into the booth as realisation dawned on him. 

Three men? Together? But how? Quark was no blunt-toothed first-day titchy-lobed intern. He knew a little about how things worked. With two men the manlier one took the other like a female. That much was obvious. And one man with two females, well, two girls, two lobes. It was natural. But three men? What kind of system did they have for working _that_ out? Were there two...Did one of them...And then...

Quark shook his head. No, he didn't really need to spend valuable time thinking about that. In this case, he really could get behind Rule of Acquisition Number 189: 'It's morally objectionable to think about sex when you should be thinking about money'. He had more important things to do. Like make sure Doctor Bashir hadn't seen anything. He checked his chronometer. 21:04. Garak and Viga had used the door nearest the docking bays, and Doctor Bashir and Dax should be coming in the opposite way any second now. He collected the empty kanar tumblers from the table and placed them in the cleaner behind the bar just in time to see flashes of Starfleet blue and red out of the corner of his eye. Perfect. Perfect. 

"The usual, officers?" he asked, reaching for the glassware for their preferred drinks.

"Thanks, Quark, but you won't need the ale glasses just yet." Dax's voice warned his hand away from the sturdy steins.

"Oh?" Quark looked up. Only Sisko and Dax stood there. 

Sisko nodded. "The Chief's joining us in half an hour. There was a problem with the plasma manifold."

"And Doctor Bashir?" Where was he? Ah, perhaps he was a little late, too. Good, even less chance he'd encounter Garak and Viga on the Promenade. And he usually only drank ale when O'Brien was around. That made sense. "Does he want a springwine instead? Or a Samarian Sunset?”

Dax shook her head. "He's not coming."

"But...he always comes."

"I know! I'm as surprised as you are. But he was called away. He said he had to go meet a 'friend'." Dax smirked. 

"I...see," said Quark.

“Yes,” said Dax. “I don’t know _who_ it could have been, though. Chief O’Brien and I are his best friends on the station.”

"...that’s true, Commander.” Quark swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. “ROM! Get over here!”

Dax tilted her head to the side, as though deep in thought. “Unless...oh, of course. He’s friendly with Ybanchi. You know, the fitness centre manager?"

"Yes, I know Ybanchi."

"Maybe it was something about a tennis racquet." Dax shrugged. "You know how he is."

"Maybe..." Quark was only half listening to Dax. His mind was ticking over what he'd just heard. Rapidly. Ticking like an overcooked slimepillar pod, deep fried and about to burst.

"But, why am I telling you all about Julian's personal life?" Dax gave a 'silly me' laugh. "I'm sure you aren't _that_ invested in who he spends his time with."

"No, of course not, not invested, just as much as any caring bartender...ROM!"

"Well, it might be cause for concern if you were too invested. Wouldn't it, Benjamin?"

"I'd certainly agree with that, Old Man." Sisko grinned with his mouth but not with his eyes. 

"Ye-e-es, Brother?" Rom appeared from the back room, the mop thankfully no longer in his hand.

"Serve these good people, will you? I've just remembered something I need to do. Urgently."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Quark even listening to what anybody said? Where's he off to now? Is Doctor Bashir really more interested in tennis than in good times at Quark's with his friends?
> 
> You can't buy me a glass of kanar, but I'd love a kudos or comment! 
> 
> (This chapter took a while, partly due to Christmas and partly because it's very long! In fact, It was going to be even longer, but I decided to cut the end off and make it its own chapter. So the next one will be a little small one about what Quark does with his shock.)
> 
> (Oh, and Fumalians kind of look a little like humanoid antelope. But a really beautiful species of antelope, like with big brown eyes and majesty and elegance, not one of the weird species. Unless you don't like him. Then he can look like one of the weird ones. It's none of my business, really.)


	6. Play Innocent, Play Dumb, Play Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quark gleans less than he hoped for and more than he bargained for from a conversation with the good Captain Viga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When we last saw Quark, he had left the bar abruptly, eager to prove that the third party in Garak and Captain Viga's little tryst was not and could never be one Julian Bashir. 
> 
> And now the thrilling continuation!

Viga looked confused to see Quark on his ship. He stood at the door of his quarters, a little rumpled, his antlers nearly brushing the top of the doorframe and his broad body regrettably blocking Quark from seeing much of the cabin interior. But Viga soon remembered his Fumalian manners and his brow unknit itself and his ears perked up as the familiar welcoming grin returned to his face. “Quark, my friend! What can I do for you?” he said, fastening the tie of the silvery velvet robe he’d been clutching closed. He did not appear to be wearing much else. Well, that had been fast. Quark was sure he’d left the bar no more than ten minutes after Garak and Viga, and followed them to Viga's ship quick as a springtail snapworm, to boot. It seemed Viga had wasted no time getting to know Garak better. And perhaps Garak’s ‘friend’, too? Was he in there already? Quark hoped not. With his usual cunning, charm, and people skills, plus a little luck, he was fairly certain he could keep Viga at the door until the mysterious third party arrived, and assure himself that it was not, in fact, Doctor Bashir. 

“Viga! My friend. I feel terrible about kicking you and Garak out of the bar. I brought you this to apologise.” With a flourish Quark produced a bottle of 742 Porot Ssel from the basket on his arm. 

“Ah, Quark! There was no need to do that!”

“Oh, I know you have plenty of kanar on hand, but it was the only thing I could think of. Please accept it.”

Viga laughed. “No, no, you generous thing,” he said, taking the bottle. Quark stifled a feeling of indignation at the comment. For Fumalians, generous was a _compliment_ , after all. “Of course I’ll accept it! All I meant was that I actually owe you my gratitude for, ah," he lowered his booming voice a measure, "arranging for me to meet Garak. You were right, he is an absolute gem. Pretends to be so cold, but he's actually the most fascinating man I've met in a while. And his gorgeous little boyfriend! Such clever hands. Humans are so creative, aren't they?” 

“Boyfriend?” Quark nearly dropped the basket. Garak had a boyfriend? A hew-mon one?

“Well, maybe not boyfriend. But they must be close. Using given names and all, which, you know, for Cardassians..." 

Quark hadn't even known Garak _had_ a given name. He exhaled in relief. It couldn't be Doctor Bashir in there, could it? He'd only ever heard them refer to each other as 'Garak' and 'Doctor'. It had to be another gorgeous hew-mon male with clever hands who Garak was close to. Why, there were plenty of other hew-mons on the station, and even though Quark didn't know of any that were close to Garak that didn't mean they didn't exist. Garak's boyfriend might be a non-drinker who didn't frequent bars, for one. It was a perfect example of the wisdom of Rule of Acquisition Number 66: 'Never assume you know everything about a situation. Many a business disaster is the result of blind arrogance.' Quark was certainly not one to make mistakes due to blind arrogance! Educating himself on the situation was the only thing to do. 

"Yes, given names are so intimate for Cardassians. They love their privacy. Almost as much as they love their kanar." Internally, Quark winced at the segue, realising it had been about as smooth as a motherless son’s unmasticated slug steak. "Speaking of kanar, I happen to have some chilled glasses in here, ready to go.” He indicated the basket. “Let's drink together so I can express my regret at my behaviour. I'll pour.” Quark made to enter Viga's quarters. 

"Maybe later, Quark." The Fumalian's thick arm fell like a containment gate to block the way. "Now's...not a great time."

"What better time to apologise than immediately after the offence? Please, Viga. I won't feel you've forgiven my transgression until we've shared a drink. It's the Ferengi way." It absolutely was not the Ferengi way, but Quark knew the Fumalian way was one of utter friendliness and hospitality, including inviolable respect for other peoples' rituals. Quark could see the conflict playing out on Viga's face. It was tearing him apart not to be able to invite Quark in. Rule of Acquisition Number 97: 'There is a richness in learning about other cultures. Exploit it.'

"Well..." Viga turned his head a little to glance into the cabin, at a closed door that presumably led to the bedroom. He bit his lip in uncharacteristic hesitancy and furrowed his brow. "Wait. Just a minute. I think I understand what's going on here, my friend!" 

Quark stiffened. "What?" 

The usual warmth and jocularity infused Viga's voice as he turned back to Quark. "It's just a cultural misunderstanding!" He threw back his head and laughed.

"A...cultural misunderstanding?" What could possibly have been misunderstood? And by whom?

"Yes! Oh, Quark, I'm so sorry. I should have been clearer from the start."

"Clearer?" What had he missed? This was all becoming as clear as Rom's ear wax.

"Yes! Communication is so important and I've just been assuming you realised what was going on. You see, I invited those two beautiful men to my cabin for _sex_. You know, with me. For fun." He shook his head. "Oh Quark, my delightful old business associate! What a hilarious bungle I've made of it! All this time you've been thinking Garak and I were negotiating prices on jacquards!" 

Rule of Acquisition Number 90: 'Play innocent. Play dumb. Play along.' There was nothing else to be done.

"Ohhhhhhhh!" Quark dropped his lower jaw and opened his eyes wide, trying to look as surprised as possible. "Viga, are my lobes red. I had no idea. I heard you talking about bolts of fabric and he's a tailor and you're a trader, so I just naturally thought..."

"Of course, Quark, of course you did! Oh my!" Viga had to wipe his eyes, he was laughing so hard. "I'm sorry, please don't be embarrassed. I'm laughing at my own arrogance. It's just so absurd I presumed a Ferengi would recognise Fumalian flirting when it's couched in business language! It's the kind of gaucherie my mother would have my antlers for!" 

Quark let the unintentional insult wash over him like a soft deluge on a spring day in Ferenginar City. He forced a laugh of his own. Rule of Acquisition Number 109: 'Dignity and an empty sack is worth the sack.'

"So you see why I can't ask you in just now, Quark. Those two lovelies are my guests, they're waiting for me so we can continue, and sex is quite private for Cardassians. For humans too, now that I think about it."

"Of course. I see." Quark's disappointment must have been evident, because Viga stopped laughing. His ears dropped and he looked concerned.

"Oh dear." Viga put a hand up to his mouth. "Oh my. Unless...have I really put my hoof in it? Quark, you weren't...hoping to join us, were you?" He glanced again at the bedroom door. "I'd have to ask them, of course..."

"NO!" Quark jumped back, then realised he'd shouted. "No, Viga, no, no, not to worry, that's not what I was after at all!" Merciful monetary multipliers! How had he given that impression? Quark had absolutely no problem with men who liked other men. It was a little strange, maybe, but as as long as they paid their bills on time, who cared? But it was truly surprising that someone as culturally aware as Viga wasn’t aware that Ferengi men just didn’t _do_ that. 

"That's a relief! Not that you aren't a very attractive man, Quark, but I'm glad not to have made you feel excluded!"

"Ah, thank you, Viga. But you don't need to worry about that. Ferengi men are only ever interested in females."

Viga looked confused again. He tilted his head. "Are you sure, Quark? I've had a few in here who...but look, who am I to lecture you on your own people? Maybe it was another cultural misunderstanding." He chuckled. "My friend, I've got to go. Thank you for the Porot Ssel. I'll meet you for that drink of forgiveness tomorrow, but believe me," he reached down and squeezed Quark's upper arm, giving him a firm, companionable shake, "there is absolutely nothing to forgive."

"Of course, Viga." Quark plastered on a smile, even though he felt as cheerful as a glass of spilt millipede juice. It had been a terrible gamble, no trade at all, an expensive bottle of kanar only to learn that _maybe_ Garak had a hew-mon maybe-boyfriend. Maybe. According to Viga, a hopeless romantic and sex beast. Quark cast his eyes and ears around for anything else he could use before Viga swished his door closed, and his gaze settled on the Fumalian's left shoulder. His robe had slipped, revealing a raw, red, crescent-shaped wound. Blood was welling out a little into his short fur. "Viga, you're bleeding!" Quark hoped he sounded concerned rather than desperate.

Viga craned his neck to look down at his own shoulder. "So I am!" He poked at it with a finger as thick as a tubeworm. "Ha! Well, you know Cardassians, Quark, you old scoundrel. I remember your lady used to leave you with little love-marks like this."

Ah, Natima. Quark sighed and rubbed his neck. He was nearly sorry to use her in this way, but he was sure she would understand. She would also never know. Rule of Acquisition Number 61: 'Your loved ones are there to further your goals. If you think they'd object, just don't tell them.' He simply had to keep Viga talking. 

"Yes, and they used to be prone to infection, too! I hope you'll visit the infirmary later. It's much better since the Federation took over the station."

"Quark, you dear, dear man! There's no need to worry. Garak's little friend brought a dermal regenerator. Actually," Viga stepped back and punched the button to close the door. "I think he _works_ in the infirmary, now that you mention it."

The door swept shut on Viga's beaming face, happy as a nit in a Nagus's ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are there any other gorgeous human men who work in the infirmary? Is Quark's problem blind arrogance or simply arrogance, or are we the arrogant ones? How soundproof is the bedroom door in Captain Viga's quarters? 
> 
> Stay tuned!
> 
> There's no need to fear a cultural misunderstanding. Kudos and comments are appropriate on all worlds!
> 
> (Editing to add: 1. I've joined tumblr. Well, I joined a while ago, but I started really participating as of yesterday. I'm conceptadecency if you'd like to find me and say hello!
> 
> and
> 
> 2\. If Rule of Acquisition Number 109: 'Dignity and an empty sack is worth the sack' seems familiar, it's because it's not mine. It's from episode 2x11, 'Rivals'. The racquetball episode.)


	7. No Turning Off Ferengi Hearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Bashir is starting to get a little fed up, and he lets Quark know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously in The Pool:
> 
> Rom was shocked to see how hot and heavy Garak and the Fumalian trader Captain Viga were getting in Quark's, and reckoned Doctor Bashir's reaction upon catching them together would reveal the truth about his relationship with Garak once and for all.
> 
> Viga let drop that he and Garak were withdrawing to meet a third party, presumably for sexual hijinks.
> 
> Quark followed in order to investigate. He was smooth and subtle as always, but unfortunately was not able to come to any firm conclusions. 
> 
> Mysteriously, Doctor Bashir was nowhere to be found all night. Maybe he was with his tennis friend.
> 
> And now the dramatic continuation.

“Quark.”

Quark raised his eyes from his PADD and blinked crustily at Doctor Bashir. It was easy to forget, with his slender frame, affable nature, and tendency to hunch over tables like he thought someone was going to steal his food, that the man was actually quite tall. This was being adequately demonstrated now, though, as the doctor, hands firmly planted on the bar, loomed over Quark like an irate scissorbeaked bog beast who’d taken the notion that Quark had interfered with its cubs. 

“Yes, Doctor?” He quickly swept his PADD screen to the screensaver, this time an image of five-year-old Nog peering over a large pitcher of luminescent green liquid at his first business venture, a snail juice stand. Quark hoped that reading Ferengi was not among the doctor’s many accomplishments. After last night’s fruitless discussion with Viga, he’d left the bar in Rom’s hands and gone home to his quarters to think, but many restless hours later, he’d come to no satisfying conclusions. Instead, he'd given up on sleep and come into the bar ahead of the breakfast crowd to go over the figures for the pool. They were not good. Between the taxes and license fee to the Bajoran government, the expensive bottle of kanar from last night's fiasco, and the free drinks he was going to have to provide to placate Garak and Viga and, it was becoming increasingly clear, Bashir, too, Quark risked not even breaking even if anyone ever won the pool. Quark's heart and head were at odds. Rule of Acquisition Number 56 was clear: 'The House always wins. If it doesn't, you're doing it wrong.' Quark prided himself on his business acumen. He never did it wrong. The pool had seemed a sure thing. And it still could be, if his instincts about Doctor Bashir were right. However, Rule of Acquisition Number 243, 'know when to walk away', was not one to be taken lightly. He'd found himself wishing that Gint had gone into more detail on that one. When, exactly, was one to walk away?

"What the hell are you playing at?" Bashir, thank the Blessed Exchequer, kept his voice to a low snarl, but still, in Quark's current state this conversation was as welcome as a Government Liquidator at Cashmas Eve dinner. Quark quickly surveyed the area. He was not yet open for business, technically, though the doors were unlocked, so the only people in the room aside from himself and the doctor were a couple of waiters arranging tables on the other side of the bar. Perfect. They were far enough away not to overhear the conversation, but close enough that they could be summoned with a shout if necessary. Not that Quark actually feared violence from Doctor Bashir, but every smart Ferengi abided by Rule of Acquisition Number 177: 'The ears are the windows of the soul. Always be aware of whose are nearby and whose are not.'

Quark pasted on his 'who, me?' face.

"Playing at? Doctor, I have no idea what you mean."

"Come off it. You know exactly what I mean. This betting pool you have on my love life."

Scrofular screechgrubs! "You _know_ about that?" Quark squeaked, before realising he should have made at least a perfunctory attempt to deny the existence of the pool. 

Doctor Bashir looked scornful. "Of course I do. Dax is one of my best friends, Quark. Do you really think she wouldn't tell me?" 

By this time Quark had gathered the wherewithal to conceal that he had also been unaware that Dax knew about the pool. "Okay, you caught me, Doctor. But you know the people on this station. They're going to gossip anyway, especially about the romantic escapades of a handsome young doctor like yourself. What's the harm in making a profit, especially if I can provide people with a little amusement at the same time?"

"Hmmm. There's a lot of potential harm, actually." The doctor set his mouth in a line. "Look, Quark. I didn't mind that you had a betting pool about me. Or at least, I knew it would be more trouble than it was worth to try to stop you so I chose not to worry about it. But this recent campaign of harassment has gone too far."

"Harassment? Me? Just who am I supposed to be harassing?” 

“Me! And Garak.”

“Doctor, I assure you! I would never...”

“Quark, don’t even start." Bashir levelled his finger at Quark, a hew-mon signal of warning that Quark had seen Sisko and O'Brien use many times, but the doctor never. "You had Morn take sneaky pictures of me on my way to work. You 'helpfully' informed me that Garak had a crush on me just in time for Chief O'Brien to overhear. You got your brother to hack into Garak's dental records, for heaven's sake!"

"You know about that too?"

"Of course I do! As Chief Medical Officer I'm to be kept informed of all breaches of patient information." 

"Odo said he wasn't going to tell you!"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Really? I thought you were savvier than that. Odo didn't have to tell me because I was the one who told him."

Sweet sonorous slimecrickets! Quark should have known not to trust that sneaky shapeshifter. It had been unlike Odo to let him and Rom away with almost no consequences, but Quark had allowed the thought to pass, consumed as he'd been at the time with other worries. And to be fair, it was easy to forget how seriously the Federation took private data, given that Federation types never seemed to leverage it into profit of any sort.

A more alarming notion stirred slowly and fuzzily in Quark's sleepy head. "Then...Garak knows too! It’s Federation regulations! You had to tell him!" 

The doctor shook his head. "No, I didn't."

Quark only realised how swiftly his heart had been beating when it slowed down a little. "Thank the Great Heavenly Spring of Eternally Flowing Latinum." 

"Who do you think told _me_? Quark, it's _Garak_. Rom might be clever, but not clever enough to get something like that by Garak. He's got a system set up so that he gets alerts if someone so much as looks up the location of his shop."

Rule of Acquisition Number 38: 'Never correct an assumption if it's to your advantage.' Quark quashed the instinct to rectify the doctor's misapprehension that Rom was clever. 

"Doctor, how can you blame me for something Rom did? I don’t even understand half of what he gets up to when he starts messing around with files and computer systems.”

But Doctor Bashir did not look convinced. "I'm not finished, Quark. You also tried to set Garak up with Captain Viga."

"I'll stop you right there, Doctor. I _did_ set Garak up with Captain Viga. Successfully. And what's wrong with that? Viga's an old friend, Garak's an old friend, and it occurred to me that they'd hit it off. Garak's your friend too. I'm actually surprised you'd be opposed to my encouraging a little romance for him."

"What's wrong with that is that you did it because you were desperate to prove to yourself that Garak wasn't already involved with someone else, namely me." Wait a minute, how did Bashir know that? For that matter, how did he know about Viga and Garak at all? It was still what amounted to the wee hours of the morning on a space station. It seemed very unlikely that Garak had already told Bashir all about his exploits at this early hour. He was probably still in Viga's quarters. And did Garak and Doctor Bashir even have that kind of friendship? They only ever seemed to talk about books and plays and things. So how...? 

Oh, of course. Quark really was suffering from sleep deprivation if he'd forgotten about the unstoppable station gossip mill. The doctor had probably joined his colleagues for a drink last night after all, and heard all about it from Morn or some other chatty barfly. 

"And if that wasn't enough, you followed them to Viga's ship and spun some story about Ferengi drinks of forgiveness to manipulate poor Viga so you could see who else they were sleeping with! Quark, that's not just greedy and annoying, that's creepy!"

Quark rubbed his eyes. "How did you know that?" There were only four people who could possibly know what had happened on Viga's ship. Quark himself, Viga, Garak, and Garak's boyfriend. Weren't there? Was he missing something? 

"What do you mean, how did I know that? Quark, I was there! Viga's bedroom door isn't very soundproof. I heard everything."

"You were in Viga's bedroom?" With Garak? Waiting for Viga to come back so they could... Pulsating pupae! It couldn't be! For the first time that morning, the grogginess lifted and Quark really saw the doctor. He was in uniform, but a little unkempt, with a thin layer of that strange hair hew-mon males produced all over the lower half of his face. He clearly hadn't been home yet this morning. " _You're_ Garak's boyfriend?!" 

Bashir flushed a little. His expression softened, and he cast his eyes down in the way hew-mons sometimes did when they were embarrassed. "Well, I don't know about _boyfriend_ ," he said, and Quark dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd miscalculated. But when Bashir looked back up his face had hardened and he looked angrier than ever. "But, yes, obviously that was me." He leaned uncomfortably close to Quark's right ear and dropped his voice. "Quark. Garak and I have been seeing each other for a while now. And it's been going well. Until the last few days, when you started your little information-gathering campaign."

"Seeing each other?" As in, romantically? Sexually? Was Quark understanding this hew-mon idiom correctly? 

"Yes, _seeing each other_. We're _more than friends_ , Quark." 

As Ferengi did not have great peripheral vision, and as Bashir's face was still close enough to Quark's ear that Quark could feel the doctor's hot hew-mon breath on his lobe, Quark more inferred the smirk on the doctor's face than saw it. A million thoughts flew through Quark's head, like a flurry of snuffbeetles during the summer mating swarm. Was it really true? How long had this been going on? Who else knew? It was difficult to formulate a reply.

"But, Doctor, how can you be seeing Garak? You like females," is what he finally spit out.

The doctor, who'd drawn back, goggled. "What? Quark, you _know_ I like men too. I was going out with Berx last year.”

“Berx?” Berx had been one of Quark’s waiters, a sharp young man with fine lobes for business and who, last Quark had heard, was now managing a fairly successful bar of his own on Capel IV. “You must be mistaken, Doctor. Ferengi men don’t go out with other men.” 

"Well, Berx does. Why do you think he was always in the infirmary after his shifts?"

"I...he was looking after his health. Rule of Acquisition Number 23: 'Nothing is more important than your health, except for your money.' Really, Doctor, I think it must have been a misunderstanding."

Bashir raised his eyebrows. "Yes, there's definitely some kind of misunderstanding going on. But I didn't come here to talk about Berx." He lowered his voice and leaned in again. "I came here because you've been bothering me, and you've _really_ been bothering Garak. You know how he values his privacy." 

"Of course he does, Doctor! I apologise profusely. I was just looking after my business interests. I had no idea I was being so intrusive." Rule of Acquisition Number 99: 'Tell them what they want to hear.' "I promise you that neither of you will see so much as the curve of my lobes from now on."

"Your word isn't good enough, Quark." Quark started to protest, but Bashir held up a hand and continued. "Do you want to know when Garak and I started seeing each other?"

"Why would I want to know that? It's none of my business!" Great gathering gains, that would be a disaster! If it became common knowledge around the station that the doctor and Garak were in fact an item, ignorance of the exact dates of pertinent events would be the only thing preventing Quark having to make some pretty hefty payouts! Rule of Acquisition Number 68: 'There is such a thing as too much information.'

"Oh, it's no bother. You're such a romantic at heart, and honestly I don't have a lot of people I can talk about this with."

"I have to insist, Doctor..." Quark stuck his fingers in his ears as Bashir leaned in further and began to whisper. But there was no turning off Ferengi hearing. Quark tried humming and keening, but in the end he was helpless as the Doctor listed the times, dates, and locations of his and Garak's first kiss and first night together.

"Now, it's a little more difficult to say when we first decided we were...something to each other, of course. You understand, Quark. But I suppose I'd have to say it was that day in the Replimat..." 

When he was finished, Doctor Bashir stood up straight and locked eyes with Quark. "Have you got that? Shall I repeat myself? Or I could write it down for you, if you'd like?" He gestured to Quark's PADD, which he realised he was still clutching in one clammy fist. 

"No, Doctor," Quark snatched his hand away, although the doctor had made no real move to take the PADD. "That's more than enough." And it was. Quark's memory for times, dates, and figures had always been an advantage in business, but now he silently cursed the Divine Manufacturer for including 'excellent echoic recall' in his specs. This information would completely obliterate any hope of profit from the pool if it got out, and since Bashir knew that he knew, Quark would have very little plausible deniability if he was challenged. 

"Good. Now three of us know. And it can stay that way, Quark, but it's up to you." The doctor narrowed his eyes. "I won't have you bothering Garak. He and I would prefer to keep our relationship quiet, but if you, or Morn, or Rom, or anyone else I can trace back to you, harasses either of us, but especially Garak, again, I'm prepared to tell Dax everything. She's dying to get the details out of me anyway."

Quark understood the implication. Rule of Acquisition Number 199: 'Don't ignore subtext. Unless it's subtext you'd rather ignore.' Well, Quark _would_ rather ignore this subtext, but he liked to think he knew how Gint had meant that rule to be interpreted. If Dax knew, and if she believed she had the doctor's blessing, the information would be all over the station in less than a day, and Quark would be out a lot of money. It was enough to drive a man to drink from his own supply. There must be some way to lessen the risk.

"Doctor, that's blackmail!" he gasped. Rule of Acquisition Number 167: 'Capitalise on their better nature.' "It's not sporting at all. I thought you Federation types looked down on that kind of thing!"

"Is it?" Bashir blinked. "Hmmm. Maybe you're right, Quark."

"You see? Why abase yourself like that by holding my lobes to the fire? You really can just trust me at my word!"

"Quark, I really can't," Bashir sighed. "But you've reminded me of something. I also don't want to hear about you taking advantage of Viga again. I don't know why, but he thinks you're his friend, and I don't want to hear about any more ridiculous Ferengi customs you've made up just to manipulate him."

Oh, there it was, finally, just where it wasn't wanted or needed. The overbearing, arrogant, sickening 'goodness' of the Federation. "I _am_ his friend! And honestly, Doctor, Viga doesn't need your protection from me." The man might behave like a jovial, pleasure-seeking playboy, but no one could say that he didn't have lobes. Eenoss Viga had got the better of Quark more than once when it came to wheelings and dealings. "But if you insist," he said, holding his hands up as the doctor raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, "I promise not to bother you and Garak or to take advantage of Viga any more."

”Good. He's a lovely man. In fact, if I weren't so annoyed at you right now I'd thank you for introducing him and Garak." The doctor almost smiled.

"There, you see, Doctor?" Quark entreated. "I'm not so terrible. Let me get you a drink on the house. To make it up to you.”

But the doctor only snorted. "Quark, is trying to win back customers with free drinks a Rule of Acquisition or something? It's not even six hundred hours. I'm going home to take a shower and change before my shift."

"Another time, then," Quark said, not answering the question. It could be inconvenient when non-Ferengi became too familiar with the Rules of Acquisition. 

"Sure," said Bashir, turning to go. "Ta-ra, Quark. Remember what I said. It would make Dax's day if I dished all the details about Garak and me."

As soon as the doctor had left the bar, bone-breaking exhaustion washed over Quark. He felt like a ninety-year-old labourer after a day raking out the snotworm paddies. It all seemed so difficult, and he was beginning to regret not walking away from the pool two days ago, when he'd first heard the rumour about the doctor and Garak kissing in Garak's shop. Sure, his profits would have taken a hit, along with his pride, but he wouldn’t be facing the prospect of being dragged down a rung in the estimations of the Blessed Exchequer. This was what came of trying to be a good brother and including Rom in his business dealings. He should have paid attention to Rule of Acquisition Number 5: 'Family is just DNA. You owe them nothing.' He was too attached, that was the problem. 

"B-b-brother, I just saw Doctor Bashir on the Promenade." 

Bribery and bailouts! Just hearing Rom's quavery voice made Quark's stomach rise, as if he'd overindulged in sugarslime snaps. He scrubbed his hand across his face. 

"I hope you didn't bother him, Rom." Just how _was_ he going to keep Rom from bothering Garak and Doctor Bashir? 

"Nooooo, of course not. My shift starts in a few minutes. And anyway, he was too far away. Bu-u-ut he looked pretty rough, Brother. Ma-a-aybe he's upset because he found out about Garak and Viga."

"Yeah, maybe," Quark said absently, mind still turning. He couldn't very well tell Rom the truth, could he? No, that was impossible. Rule of Acquisition Number 201: 'Use the truth sparingly with your employees. It helps maintain the upper hand.'

”Really? Do you really think so, Brother?” Rom squealed more than spoke. "I do too. And Fumalians have prehensile tongues. I-i-it's enough to make anyone feel inadequate."

“Eh?” What was the eel-brain talking about now? Everyone knew Fumalians had prehensile tongues. Just like everyone knew Vulcans had pointed ears. 

“I said do-o-o you really think Doctor Bashir is upset about Garak and Viga?"

Oh, this was just too much. Quark needed time to think. "Don't twist my words, Rom. We already discussed this last night."

"We-e-ell, Doctor Bashir never showed up last night, Brother, so we didn't really get to see if he'd..."

"That's enough, Rom." Quark glanced meaningfully up at the ornate chronometer over the bar. "Your shift started one minute ago and I don't see a mop or a bucket in your hand."

"S-s-sorry, Brother. I'll get them right away." Rom ducked under the bar and made for the back room. 

"Rom, wait! Just one thing before you start. Do you remember Berx?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has Quark lost his second-best customer? How is he going to keep Rom from bothering Garak and Doctor Bashir? Is Garak as protective of Doctor Bashir as Doctor Bashir is of Garak?
> 
> There's no turning off how much I treasure each and every one of your comments and kudos!


	8. Latinum Shines Brightest When You've Gone Through Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quark's plans to send Rom away and resurrect the pool from near death can't possibly go wrong!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you reading along in real time, thanks for sticking with the story while it was on hiatus!
> 
> Previously:
> 
> Rom was certain he had proof enough of Garak and Doctor Bashir's relationship to win Quark's betting pool.
> 
> Quark was sure Rom was wrong, but to protect his assets, tried to get information from Chief O'Brien.
> 
> Rom got into a little trouble with Odo when he hacked into Garak's dental records, and Quark learned that hew-mons can have diverse sexual interests. 
> 
> In a daring experiment, Quark tried to set Garak up with Captain Enoss Viga, an old business contact, and in the aftermath learned far, far more than he wanted to about Doctor Bashir and Garak's relationship. 
> 
> Doctor Bashir made it very, very clear that Quark and Rom's attentions were unwelcome, and that further intrusions would be met with severe consequences. _Financial_ consequences. 
> 
> And now the exciting continuation!

"Vacation? Me?" Rom's head swung from side to side, searching the empty bar, as if Quark might be speaking to some other brother. "Bu-u-ut why?"

"Rom, Rom, Rom." Quark adopted a soothing tone. "It’s simple economics. A worker who's had time to recharge comes back refreshed and twice as productive. There’s research." Flawed research, sure, but Rom didn't need to know that. Quark just had to get him off the station for a while, and quickly, so that he could figure out his next step. Would he be able to save the pool, or at least come out of it with a decent profit, like a respectable Ferengi? That was yet to be determined. But one thing was certain: Doctor Bashir, quite unreasonably, had it in for the pool. The doctor would make sure it was dead as a lace-frilled lungmander in a chemical waste pond if the glint off Rom’s idiotic dome so much as bothered his or Garak’s eyes, and with it would die any hope of profit. So Rom had to go. Temporarily, of course. "Why wouldn’t I send you on vacation?” 

Rom leaned on the handle of the sonic mop he’d been using on floor. “Yo-o-ou’ve never done it before, Brother.” 

“Well, can’t I try something new for once? Rule of Acquisition Number 110: ‘New ideas open the doors to profit’.”

“I guess so.” Rom looked doubtful. "Bu-u-ut, why now? Don't you need me here? Things are really busy at the bar, a-a-and, if you don't mind my saying so, Brother, you've been kind of tense lately. Maybe you're the one who needs a vacation."

"Tense, me? Don't be silly, Rom. How could I be tense when business is so good? I'm loose as a jellylouse." Quark shook out his shoulders to demonstrate how very relaxed he was, ignoring the achey twinge he'd had at the base of his neck for the past couple of days.

"Ohhhkay, if you say so. But, where should I go, Brother? What should I do? I've never had a vacation before." Rom wrung the handle of the mop nervously.

"Rom! Use your imagination. You can go anywhere in the two quadrants!" And the farther away, the better. "I've got it!" Quark snapped his fingers as if the idea had just occurred to him. "How about Earth? I know you're missing Nog. Go visit him at Starfleet Academy."

"Well, it _would_ be great to see Nog. He was asking just the other day if I could send him a new tooth sharpener. His broke a-a-and he says quality replacements are hard to get on Earth."

"There you go! You can bring him a new one yourself, in person. Actually, you could probably even fix the old one for him. There's nothing like the personal touch, is there?"

"Rule of Acquisition Number 213!" Rom beamed jaggedly. “Bu-u-ut..." His face fell. ”There's just one problem. Nog's starting his exams soon. I'd just be in the way. I don't suppose..." Rom was even more hesitant than usual.

"What?" Faltering futures, Rom had to leave! Immediately! He wouldn't be so stupid as to turn down a vacation, would he?

"CouldItakeitinacoupleofweeksinstead?" Rom spit out, then blinked, goggle-eyed, as if astonished at his boldness. "Nog's exams'll be finished by then."

"What?" Quark said again. "No! You have to go now!" He realised he had raised his voice and took a calming breath. Rule of Acquisition Number 152: 'Never lose your cool'. "That is to say, according to my data, now is the best time for you to take a vacation. It's all based on sales figures compiled from the last three years. I'd explain it to you, but you don't have time. You have to pack." There were, of course, no such calculations. Rule of Acquisition Number 180: 'Bamboozle them with facts and figures'. "It's now or never." Quark gave his PADD a final, performative tap and presented it to Rom. "There's a direct transport to Earth leaving in eight hours." 

Cradling the handle of the mop with one shoulder so it wouldn't fall, Rom took the PADD in both hands and peered at it. "I-i-it's a slow transport, but I'd still arrive on Earth in the middle of Nog's exams. What would I do with myself while he's busy, Brother? I couldn't stay in San Francisco. It'd be too disruptive for him."

"Rom! It's Earth! The possibilities are endless!" Quark racked his brains trying to remember what one could possibly do in the Terran system. "There's Wall Street, for one." Noo-York was on Earth, wasn't it? "And the Utopia Planitia!"

"Well, yes, but Nog and I said we'd see both of those together someday."

"The Great Steppes of Goragrungran! You love wide open spaces."

Rom furrowed his brow. "I do, but I think those are on Tellar Prime, Brother."

Oh. What else? Quark ran through what he'd learned from the hew-mons on the station, desperate to remember something, anything, about Earth geography. "How about Chief O'Brien's region?" What was it called? Fin-galas? "You could try one of those breakfasts of his you're always going on about! Think about it. A real one, not replicated." No fear of Nog wanting to join his father for one of those vile hew-mon meals. Nog might have turned his back on his people by entering Starfleet Academy, but his stomach was still staunchly Ferengi. The boy practically lived on spiced tube grubs in millipede sauce whenever he was home. 

Rom's eyes lit up. "That's a great idea, Brother!" He tapped at the PADD. "He's from a place called Eyer-land. Here." He pointed at a map of, Quark supposed, some region of Earth. "Ohhhhhh. Brother, I didn't realise it was so close to Ing-land!"

"Ing-land?" That sounded familiar. Why? 

"It's a country, Brother. I-I-I think it's where Doctor Bashir's from."

"Doctor Bashir? He's not from Ing-land." No, he wasn't, was he? He was from...Quark drew a blank. Earth, he supposed. He wasn't sure he'd ever known where Doctor Bashir was from. 

"Ma-a-aybe I'm wrong. But it's definitely where Shakespeare's from. You know, the writer that Doctor Bashir and Garak love so much?" Rom had found a travel article and was half talking to himself. "Huh. I-I-I didn't realise Shakespeare was pre-warp. He-e-e must be pretty good if people still talk about him."

"Garak hates Shakespeare." If there was one thing that Quark knew about Earth literature, it was that there was a writer named Shakespeare, of whom Garak thought very little. Everyone on the station probably knew that, actually, because Garak was so vocal about it whenever he and Doctor Bashir discussed the topic, so why wasn't Quark's idiot brother aware? Typical Rom, living in a different reality from everyone else.

"Noooo, I think that's just Cardassian flirting, Brother. If Garak really hated Shakespeare he wouldn't let Doctor Bashir take him to those Shakespeare programmes on the holosuite all the time." Quark realised, with a start, that Rom was probably right, may his lobes droop and dangle. But, still, there was no need to tell him that. Rom was still scrolling, rapt in the wonders of Ing-land, Earth. "It says here there's a replica of a theatre from Shakespeare's time, whe-e-ere they put on his plays. I wonder if I'd enjoy that. I probably have time to ask Doctor Bashir which one is best before I leave, if he's not too busy...”

Bankruptcy betide him! Quark snatched the PADD out of Rom’s hand as fast as a hungry ridgedactyl. “You know, Rom, something just occurred to me," he said, tapping through to Deep Space Nine's Transport Departures page. "Nog must be missing home, so far away on that greed-foresaken planet. Why don't you stop over on Ferenginar on your way, and pick up something nice for him? You wouldn't have time to go to Ing-land, unfortunately, but it'd be worth it for Nog." 

Rom's hands remained curled in the air, as if he was still clutching the PADD. "Uhhhhh. Ferenginar? But Brother, that's the opposite direction. It'd take me almost twice as long to get to Earth from there."

"So what? I bet there’s nothing Nog would like more than a care package of cockroach creams made by his grandmoogie in her own kitchen.”

“Moogie!” A grin crinkled across Rom's face. “Bu-u-ut her cockroach creams aren't that great. Not enough legs."

Quark sighed dramatically. "Rom. You've forgotten Rule of Acquisition Number 189: 'No one can calculate the true value of a grandmother's love, but it's a lot'. It doesn't matter if they aren't that great. If they're made by her, they're valuable. And anyway, just ask her to put more legs in. She'd do it for Nog."

"We-e-ell, legs aren't cheap, but she might, I guess. A-a-and Nog'd really love some home-made cockroach creams even if she didn't."

"Of course he would. The boy's got to be starved for decent food. Okay, I can get you a berth on a freighter leaving for Ferenginar in...six and a half hours." Even sooner than the transport to Earth, and cheaper, too. Quadrupling capital! He'd have Rom out of his ears in no time. 

"Bu-u-ut..."

"WHAT, Rom?"

"I-I-I can't afford to take that much time off work. I've got expenses, Brother. Rent, subspace bills, replicator bills..." Rom ticked each item off on a stubby finger. "The-e-ey don't stop just because I'm not here. And I'll be gone for at least three weeks if I'm going to Ferenginar first." He twitched a lip and squeezed an eye shut as he considered. "Probably closer to four. I can't go for that long without pay."

Quark did some mental math. "Who said anything about _unpaid_ leave?" he said through gritted teeth. Rule of Acquisition Number 130: 'Never pay relatives market value for their labour. They benefit from merely being in your orbit.' Rom's hourly wage was frankly a joke, but was it Quark's fault his brother was no good at negotiating a higher rate of pay? "I can give you half your normal weekly salary for the four weeks you're gone."

"I-I-I don't know, Brother. Half pay'd just barely cover my bills." Rom bit his lip thoughtfully and jiggled the mop handle. "And I'd have a lot to pay for on the trip, too. Transport, food, hotels. Souvenirs. It won't be free. E-e-even on Earth." 

"Well, it'll be _practically_ free," Quark spat. Disgustingly, basic food and transport were entirely gratis on Federation worlds to all who visited, and hotels and other accommodation available at very modest rates even to non-Federation citizens.

"I-i-it'd still be expenses I wouldn't normally have, Brother. The transport from the station alone would be a-a-at least a week's pay. If I'm lucky. And things on Ferenginar add up quickly! I don't think I can afford it." With a glum shake of his head, Rom reached down to switch on the sonic mop. "I guess I'd better finish the floor before the breakfast crowd arrives," he shouted over the absonant hum. 

Excess and evasion, had it really come to this? Quark studied the transport fares on the PADD. If he sent Rom on the slowest, cheapest freighters, and if he managed to get a few unpaid interns from Bajor University Business School to cover Rom's shifts, it would work out. "Okay, fine, Rom. Shut off that infernal noise and come here." Quark sighed. "In the name of my experiment, I'll pay for your transport." 

"A-a-and give me extra hours when I get back?"

"And give you extra hours when you get back."

Rom looked up and tilted his head doubtfully. "Ummmmmmm. How many? For how long? At overtime pay?"

Quark had to take a deep breath before he was able to answer. "Ten a week. For two weeks. Yes, at overtime pay."

"Time and a half? In writing?"

"...yes." Gilded guarantees, putting a deal in writing was normal, but _time and a half_? Where had Rom picked up these ideas?

"What about hotels, Brother?" 

"I'm about to book your transport." Quark's finger hovered over the screen. "I swear, if I hear one more 'but' or 'what about' you're going steerage." He'd been about to book steerage anyway, but Rom couldn't see from his angle. Probably. Quark shifted his finger over to the 'standard accommodation' column. 

"Oh, I-I-I'm sorry! I'll shut up. Book it, Brother, please."

Before either of them could reconsider, Quark jabbed the 'book now' button and passed the PADD over so Rom could enter his details. "No special meals, now."

"O-o-of course not, Brother." Details submitted, Rom returned the PADD, and Quark's throat tightened at the sum in front of his eyes. Ah well. Rule of Acquisition Number 4: 'You've got to spend money to make money, and sometimes to keep money'. He slid his thumb over the 'pay here' button and swallowed as the PADD's vibration told him the payment had gone through.

"There. It's booked. Now put the mop away and get out of here! You've got a lot to do to get ready." Quark made a shooing motion with his hands, and realised that, despite the desperate amount of money he'd just spent to get his brother out of the way, he was actually quite relieved to have one problem nearly solved. Sure, he wasn't completely in the clear until the freighter pulled away from the station with Rom on board, but his brother would now be so consumed with preparing for the trip that there was little risk of him pestering Garak and Doctor Bashir. In fact, the fool had probably forgotten all about the pool already. Rom never had been good at the single-minded pursuit of wealth. Quark only wished he'd thought to send Rom away earlier, but it was no use crying over spilt snail juice.

"Wow, me, on vacation! Thank you, Brother! Thank you!" Over the bar, Rom's moronic grin nearly split his simple face in two. He'd already picked up the mop and bucket and was tottering excitedly towards the storage area. "I'll be back to sign the contract after I've finished packing!"

Quark shook the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and began drawing up the standard fraternal contract for Rom's ludicrous 'time and a half'. He chuckled to himself. How needlessly worried he'd been! No doubt he'd be able to figure out how to salvage the pool in the four weeks that Rom was away. In fact, he'd probably find a way to double his profits. Anything was possible, as long as he didn't bother Garak and Doctor Bashir. Wasn't Quark esteemed the quadrant over for his legendary ingenuity, not to mention his people skills? All he needed was a little space between himself and the happy couple, and a little time to let his lobes do their work. Why had he doubted Rule of Acquisition Number 286: 'Persevere. Latinum shines brightest when you've gone through hell to get it'? He might not even have to do anything. Garak and Doctor Bashir would more than likely have broken up by the time Rom got back. Quietly, too, if Garak had any say in it, with no one on the station any the wiser that they'd ever been together in the first place. Yes, of course, that's exactly what would happen. Quark shook his head. Poor Garak. But he had to have had some inkling what he was getting into. The doctor's relationships weren't know for their longevity, and no doubt his head would soon be turned by some pretty dabo girl or other. And actually, now that he thought about it, some of the dabo outfits were getting a little old. Everyone knew men craved novelty. It was time for fresh costumes anyway, and if he managed to nudge Doctor Bashir into the arms of one of his employees, all the better. There would be no harm in investing in a new bit of sparkle for the girls. 

And maybe...the boys? 

Great leaping lumps of lustrous latinum! That was it, of course! Berx! If Doctor Bashir liked women _and_ men, the obvious answer was to double the temptation! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Well, Rule of Acquisition Number 188 was why. 'Desperation is the mother of invention'. He just hadn't been this desperate. And not only would this brilliant plan probably save the pool, he'd just figured out a way to reach an untapped market of customers! The profits would be immense! 

Quickly he finished the perfunctory contract for Rom and, setting it aside, searched 'sexy dabo boy' on his PADD. Well, okay. That was a lot of skin, scale, and fur on display, and the fabrics were awfully slinky and shiny. Quark couldn't see the appeal himself, but he supposed for people who liked men they were just the same as a dabo girl's costume. Certainly Garak would be able to run a few of these up in no time, just like he did with the girls' outfits. Then all Quark would need to do would be train some of the waiters up on the dabo wheels! He'd be positively swimming in latinum!

Quark looked up at the chronometer. It was still unthinkably early. The tailor shop wasn't due open for another hour at least, and that was assuming Garak even bothered to leave his little sex den on Viga's ship to attend to his business this morning. But no matter. Quark had a plan, and four weeks in which to execute it. Sure as snotworms and safe as snuffbeetles, everything was going to be okay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Quark's worry needless? Will his newfound sense of gender equality pay off? Will Garak's poor heart be broken by the inconstant and capricious doctor?
> 
> Please let me know you're still with me by commenting and kudosing!


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